


The Gift of Fever

by Turtlebaby



Category: White Collar
Genre: Christmas Morning, F/M, Ghostly Trio, Ghosts, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Multi, shameless kid!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtlebaby/pseuds/Turtlebaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of Neal's three visitors. One to remind him, one to show him, and one to warn him. From pooh_collector's prompt for the whitecollarhc 2013 advent. "Has anybody ever done A Christmas Carol, WC edition? This haven't been going well for Neal. It was a crappy year with his deadbeat dad, Peter's imprisonment, et al. Then on Christmas Eve he comes down with a terrible cold complete with fever and is visited by those three ghostly figures who show him how his life has been important to those that love him."</p>
<p>I got a little off script from the prompt, sort of. Because that's what I do and the muse was being especially fickle with this one. I hope I at least sort of do it justice. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so sorry for all the mistakes and extra commas. Also, I'm too tired for formatting - if if looks absolutely terrible, let me know, yeah?

Neal hummed as he woke, his head tucked into the crook of his lovers arm, Peter's fingers were tugging gently at the tangles in his hair as he carded them through.

"Hey. I didn't mean to wake you." Peter's voice rumbled sleepily. "Alarm hasn't gone off yet."

Neal hummed again and snuggled his face closer to Peter's chest. "You need a shower." He lifted his head out of Peter's armpit and grinned.

"You like it." Peter used his hold on his hair to tip his head back just a little.

Neal shrugged. "I do." Peter kissed the smile off his face and Neal dropped his head back, planting kisses against the bare skin there.

Peter laughed low and it vibrated against Neal's lips. "Nice plan, sweetcheeks, but we don't have time for that."

"It's going to be mortifying the first time you call me that in public." Neal wasn't really complaining. The nickname had started as a joke, now there was a warm feeling that came with it.

Peter laughed again and brought his arm down, pulling Neal closer and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. Neal closed his eyes relaxed into him, easily slipping back into sleep.

Until the alarm. A song much to jolly for this time of the morning came blaring from the radio beside the bed and Neal groaned. "I cannot wait for this season to be over. I'm so sick of Christmas music." He rolled over and slapped the alarm before sitting up and putting his feet on the floor.

"A few more days and we'll issue a cease and desist. Well, at least the cease part." Peter sat up as well on the other side of the bed.

"Yeah, until next year." Neal could hear the cranky in his voice but didn't care. There was just something so... annoying about its cheerfulness.

"Neal? Are you seriously telling me that you don't like Christmas?"

"Bah humbug." Neal stood and stretched. He couldn't see it but he knew Peter was frowning. He rolled his eyes and plastered on a smile before he turned around. Peter was already staring, frown in place, when he did. "I'm kidding, Peter. What kind of man would hate Christmas?"

Peter's frown softened and the corner of his lip turned up in a disbelieving  smile. He shook his head. "Ok, Scrooge. Whatever you say."

Honestly, Neal didn't hate Christmas. It had just been a long time since he gave it much thought. A life always on the run didn't leave time for roasting turkeys or baking pies. He'd had a couple, with Kate that were ok, but the big family thing (and all the things that made the day important to most people) wasn't something he had to look forward to. His dad had loved Christmas but those memories were hazy and painful and he wasn’t really sure if they were real or just the echoes of stories told to him by Ellen.  And after... his mom did her best but she never really found that spirit. Eventually as he'd gotten older, she'd stopped trying; he stopped asking her to.

No, he didn't hate Christmas. He hated what he didn't have. And as if to point it out Peter spoke again. "So... do you have any plans for Christmas?"

"Of course." Three bottles of wine and Chinese takeout. "Moz”

Who will be on a beach somewhere drinking his own holiday sorrows away with an umbrella in his cup.

“and I have a couple traditions. Drinks and stuff." Not technically a lie. Peter didn't know they'd be drinking on opposite sides of the country. "You?"

"Oh, we're driving over to spend a few days at Elizabeth's sister’s place. It's the halfway point between El and her parents.." Peter winced. "Nothing like a long drive and a house full of in laws to remind you how good you have it." He scratched at his cheek. "But that's good. That you have plans. It's good."

"Yeah." Neal's smile felt weak. Bah humbug.

\--

The day before Christmas eve was quiet in the white collar unit and Peter was fighting the crews boredom with El’s homemade cookies and tiny candycanes.  Neal was perched on the edge of the desk, eyeing the skeleton crew that was holding down the fort. He had a blue and white candycane dangling from his fingertips, twirling it against his thumb. Everyone else had the same look of quiet desperation on their faces, boredom mixed with the desire to get out of there.  Neal sighed and hopped off the desk, faltering a step as a wave of lightheadedness washed over him.

“You ok?” Peter was suddenly beside him.

“Fine.” He smiled and slid the candy cane between his lips, enjoying the way Peter’s pupils grew large. Truth, he didn’t feel fine. He felt like he was somewhere between lands, his head floating a good foot above his body. But he was damned if he was going to interrupt Peter and El’s Christmas with a silly bug. “Can we get out of here yet? I know you guys want to get on the road.”

Peter looked at his watch and shrugged. “Sure.” He turned back to the group of agents around them. “You’re free to go everyone.” A chorus of cheers. “Thank you for coming in today. And good things willing, I won’t see any of your faces until Monday.” Another chorus. “But keep your phones on!” Groans. “Merry Christmas!”

He turned his attentions back to Neal, who had closed his eyes and was leaning heavily against the desk. “You don’t look fine.” Peter stepped in and tried to put a hand to Neal’s forehead, but Neal felt him coming and jerked away.

“Nothing a nap won’t fix.” He stood up straight and grabbed his hat and jacket. “Come on, El will be happily surprised that you’re early.”

\--

Peter called from the car to tell his wife they were leaving and El met them, bags in hand, at the door. She tiptoed up to kiss them one at a time as they walked in. Then she handed Peter the bags and shooed him back out. She missed her family and as much as she knew she'd be more than ready to leave when it was  time, she was excited to see them. The long drive coupled with the forecast of snow looming over them had her eager to be on the way.

Neal was nearly shivering even as he felt clammy sweat between his shoulder blades. He shouldn't be glad that his lovers were leaving but he'd always preferred to be sick alone. But of course El noticed. "Sweetie, you're really pale. Are you feeling ok?" She managed to press the back of her hand to his cheek before he could stop her. "You're warm."

"I'm fine, Elizabeth. Just a little cold. Don't worry about me." He stepped back and slipped his con smile in place. "Is there anything else that needs to go out?"

"Just a few more things. And Satch. But we can get it as we leave. Neal, if you don't feel well we can-"

"No, El." He slipped Peter's nickname in, knowing she liked it when he used it. He reserved it for occasions such as this. "I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll feel better after some sleep." There was irritation itching through him even though his rational mind knew she meant well. Just go. He didn't need to be babied.

She reached a hand up and flipped a piece of hair off his forehead. "We'll call you. Check in." There was worry written across her face and he was slightly disgusted with it. "I wish..." Peter opened the door behind them and she jumped, thought interrupted.

"Ready?" He looked at El and then at Neal. "Come on, buddy. Let's take you home, you look like shit."

\--

Neal was asleep by the time they reached June's and Peter shook his shoulder gently. "Caffrey."

"Hmm?" Neal opened his eyes and jerked awake. "I'm up."

"I see that." Peter shot a worried look at Elizabeth. "Maybe we should stay."

Neal groaned. His head was throbbing and he just wanted the quiet dark of his apartment. "We've had this discussion. You're going to go and I'm going to be fine."

Peter watched him thoughtfully. "And you've got plans with Mozzie." He turned to El. "He's right. This is ridiculous." Back to Neal. "It's ridiculous. You're a grown man. If you wanted us to stay, you'd ask. Right?"

Neal gave a half committed shrug. "Course." When did his throat get so scratchy? Hadn't he just been talking?

"Ok then." Peter almost sounded angry, but hell, Neal thought he probably deserved it. "If you don't want us here we'll leave you alone to wallow in your misery."

"I'm not... wallowing." That stung a little. "But I'm not worth ruining your Christmas over. Especially when I'll be better in the morning." God, he was just trying to make sure they enjoyed their holiday. No need for Peter to wear his pissy pants.

Christmas always brought out the worst in him. Call it seasonal depression or winter blues or a bad case of the crankies, but right now he just wanted to be left alone. He flung the car door open and got out too quickly for his head and nearly sat again as nausea rippled through his belly. He put a steadying hand on the roof of the car and dipped his head back in. "Merry Christmas." He slammed the door and turned away before either of them could respond.

He made it to the front door before Elizabeth caught up to him, a hand against his back. "Neal."

He turned to face her, rolling his eyes to hide the tears. He just felt so bad. And he was so tired and so close to the soft of his bed. They just needed to leave so he could be sick in peace. But then there was the fact that they were leaving and he didn't want that to bother him, but it did somehow and that irritated him even more. "What?" He snapped, the throb in his head felt like a sledgehammer.

She stepped back, a little startled at the bite in his voice. "Don't be mad, sweetie. It's Christmas."

"Not mad." He softened his tone. "Have a safe trip." He turned back to the door and finally got the key to work. He moved inside and looked back at her before he shut the door. "I'd kiss you goodbye but..." He gestured at his face. "...germs." Wouldn't want your Christmas to suck too.

He tried to shut the door but she put her hand against the wood. "Here." She thrust a small wrapped package through the crack in the door. "I know we were gonna wait until we got home- Merry Christmas, Neal." She turned away and was gone down the steps.

Neal sighed and slammed the door. "Bah humbug." He made his way upstairs and dropped his keys and the little gift on the table.

He kicked off his shoes and dropped his pants as he fumbled over the knot of his tie and the shirt buttons. He'd be disgusted with himself later for the state that he left his clothes (not to mention the state of his relationship.), but right then he didn't care as he crawled between the sheets and pulled them up to his chin. Right then the only thing that mattered was retaining warmth and not moving. He figured he had a good 5 or so hours before they reached their destination at El's sisters place and started calling him.  Plenty of time for sleep and recovery. He realized belatedly that he hadn't taken anything for his head or his fever. But that too slid to the back burner as sleep overtook him.

\--

“Neal?” The gentle knocking on his door set his teeth on edge but he pulled himself up and stumbled toward the door.

“June.” He pulled the door open and stared at her blearily. “Need something?”

“No.” She smiled. “Peter called. Asked me to check in on you before I left for the weekend.” She frowned at him. “Are you alright?”

Neal squinted. She seemed to be fuzzy around the edges and her voice was far away and slightly singsongy.  “I’m ok, June. Thanks for looking in on me.” He was gripping the door frame so tight his knuckles were white. “Have a nice Christmas.”

June was frowning. “Are you sure, dear?”

“Just going to take something for my head and go back to sleep.” He forced a smile and tried not to shake his head to clear the fog.

“If you need anything-” She trailed off.

“Thank you.” Neal smiled until she turned away before shutting the door behind her.  He leaned his forehead against the wood and cursed. Somewhere he had lost half a day. That was not good. He stumbled over to the sink and swallowed a pill with as much water as he stomach allowed. He grabbed his phone and would have smiled at the texts he found waiting, if he wasn't currently fighting the urge to vomit.

I hope you’re getting some rest.

I know you know this, but Peter drives like my grandmother.

Satch is wishing he would have stayed with you. Threw up in the backseat! El is not happy.

Just over halfway. El drives like a maniac. Wish you were here.

I miss you. I hope you’re feeling better.

I’m sorry, Neal. Text me?

Hey, we made it in one piece. Going to go sleep through Christmas.

Tried to call, didn’t want to wake you. Call one of us?

Peter’s worried, sweetie. Just let us know you’re alright?

June’s coming to check on you. Put on pants!

He picked up the phone to dial Peter when another text came through.

June says you’re alive. Sleep well, sweetcheeks.

Neal could almost hear the words out of Peter’s mouth. He nodded to his phone and dropped it back to the counter. He wasn’t sure how he made it back to the warmth of his bed but he was relieved when there was`a pillow under his head.

\--

It was dark the next time he opened his eyes. He was shaking and he was cold. Bitter all the way through to his bones cold. He pulled himself upright and realized that he was curled up on his bathroom rug with a hand towel over his shoulder and the taste of vomit in his mouth. He groaned as the blurry memories came back and his stomach clenched again. He got to his feet and shuffled his way back to his bed, using every piece of furniture along the way for support.

He somehow managed to get in the bed and under the blankets, his eyes already closed. Sleep was pulling, lulling. And then there was something, a noise. Like a scratching. He opened his eyes.

A clanging, maybe. A banging? His head hurt too much to care how to describe it. But it was getting closer. And therefore, louder. He buried his head under the blankets and hoped June wasn’t getting robbed.

“Neal.” His door creaked open and the dragging sound moved toward the bed. But the voice he recognized and pushed the blankets back from his eyes.

“Moz?” Maybe there was something wrong with his eyes. His friend appeared to be washed in a blue light. “What the hell?” The dragging sound came from the chains wrapped around Mozzie’s frame.

“Have no fear, mon frere!” Mozzie was waving his hands around dramatically. “It is I!”

Neal pushed himself up into a seated position and rubbed at his eyes. “I see that, Mozzie. I thought you’d be on a beach somewhere by now.”

Mozzie’s shoulders slumped and he crossed his arms, causing the chains around them to rattle. “Not even going to ask about the chains?” He looked put out.

Neal blinked at him. “I’m not sure I want to know.” He frowned as he failed to bring Mozzie fully into focus.

“Have you never read Dickens? Do you not get my subtle reference?” Now he was pacing slightly, rattling the chains against the floorboards. “I don’t know why I bother.”

“Wait, what?”

“Jacob Marley. Business partner?” Mozzie sighed heavily. “Am I really going to have to spell this out for you?”

“Are you drunk?” Neal was still frowning. He was pretty damn sure he could see his kitchen table through Mozzie’s chest. “Am I?”

“No.” He looked hurt. “Though I’m not above admitting to the hallucinogenic properties of the fever that’s got you looking so peaked.”

“So I’m hallucinating?” Neal raised an eyebrow. “Wait, would my hallucination really tell me I was seeing things?”

“Well, no. Probably not.” Mozzie waved his hands again. “Anyway, we’re getting off script.”

“There’s a script to my delusions?”

“You really don’t recognize Dicken’s in my work? Neal, I’m ashamed of you. Chains, haunting figure… come on.”

“Moz… are you dead?”

“Dead? Why would I be dead?”

“... Jacob Marley was Scrooge's dead business partner.”

“Oh, right. Well, no. I’m not dead. But I’m not here, either. Maybe you’re subconscious misses me.”

“You’ve only been gone a week.”

“Nine days!” Mozzie put his ghostly hands on his hips. “Script! We don’t have all night. Your first visitor will be here soon.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Let me guess? The ghost of Christmas past? Seriously, Moz, what’s the point here?”

Mozzie visibly softened, literally. The light around him dimmed. “Oh friend. Sometimes you just don’t see.” The door to the balcony pushed open and an ice cold breeze blew through. “That’s my cue. Listen to the spirits, Neal. Let them show you. Maybe I was wrong, about happiness, I mean.” He looked sad. "You have a choice. Don't end up like me." With that he turned and disappeared through the door, chains clanking across the floor.

Neal waited. And waited. And finally got up and pulled the doors to the terrace closed. He was almost back to his bed when they opened again. “What the…” he turned around and stopped.

“Hi, Neal.” She was standing just inside the open doors and there was a smile on her face. “I’ve missed you.”

“Ellen.” Neal walked to her and wrapped his arms around her. When he pulled away he could feel the tears burning behind his eyes. “I suppose you’re my first spirit?”

Ellen nodded and swiped a tear off his cheek with her thumb. “The Ghost of Christmas Past. That’s me.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Not that it’s not good to see you, even if you are a figment of my imagination, but do we have to? I remember how Christmases went as a child.”

Ellen only smiled. “You think you do. Do you trust me, Neal?”

He nodded. “More than most.”

“Then come with me. Let me show you something.” She held out her hand and he took it.  He blinked.

And when he opened his eyes again, just half a second later, it wasn’t his loft that he was standing in but a small living room adorned with mismatched Christmas decorations and well used furniture.  He looked at Ellen, confused.  “Where are we? I don’t recognize…”

“Of course you don’t.” She patted his cheek.  “I wouldn’t expect you to, look how little you are!” She pointed past him.

Neal turned and then turned back to Ellen in disbelief.  She only smiled wider and nodded back to the scene unfolding behind him.  He looked again, curiosity getting the better of him.

The youngest version of himself that he’d ever seen was toddling across the floor toward the Christmas tree in the corner. He couldn’t have been much more than two. For a moment he thought that it was ridiculous that he should recognize himself in a toddler, but when the baby dropped to his bottom and looked through Neal - the bright blue of his own eyes was undeniable.

“Momma!” The boy shrieked and waved his hands in the air.

Neal turned and stepped back as his mother, as she had been before his father left, swept into the room full of beauty and grace.  “Neal!” She laughed and swooped him up. “Are you going after that tree again?”

She tickled his belly and the child laughed. “No, no, treeeee.” He made grabby hands and leaned forward in his mother’s arms toward the shiny bulbs.  “P’etty!” He clapped.

Neal couldn’t help but smile at the grin on his mother’s face. At the pure radiating innocence on his own baby face. “We look so happy.” He turned to Ellen again.

“You were.” Ellen touched his arm. “Your parents were so proud of you.”

Neal looked back and the scene had changed, same year; the decorations hadn’t changed. This time it was his father airplaning him above his head. The child in his arms was giggling and straining for the santa hat his dad wore.

“Jimmy! He just ate! If you don’t stop he’s going to throw up all over the rug.” His mother was suddenly there, smiling.

His dad held the boy out at arms length. “Neal? Are you going to throw up on the rug?” He asked with mock seriousness.

“No ‘frow up!” He held his arms out again and made motor noises. “Pweese fwy me dadda!”

His father laughed and his mother shook her head, but her smile grew.  She stepped in before James could lift the kid again and wrapped them both into a hug. “Merry Christmas, boys.”

“Merry Christmas, Love.” His dad kissed the top of her head.

“I wish I could remember this.” Neal was a little ashamed of the tears on his face. “I don’t have any memories, Ellen. Not of when we were like this.”

“Now you have this one.” She took his hand again. “But there’s another that I have to show you. And it’s a little harder to watch.” Her smile was gone. “But it’s just as important.”

Neal shot another glance back at the family, their voices were muted now but he could still see happiness radiating from them. “Let’s go.”

He closed his eyes as Ellen took his hand.  This time it was the smell that told him where he was. Stale tobacco and old carpet. “St. Louis.” He opened his eyes and took in the shabby little apartment where he’d spent most of his youth.

“You remember.” Ellen let go of his hand.

“Of course I do.  You don’t forget a place you called home.” Neal looked around.  There was an artificial tree in one corner of the small living room, ragged with years of use.  A few impersonal ornaments hung limply from it’s branches, and it’s lights were dark. No gifts sat under the tree and the stockings that were hung on the wall with scotch tape were empty.

It wasn’t until he took a step forward that he spotted his mother, older now; in more ways than just her appearance. She was sitting at the old scarred table, cigarette in hand and coffee at her elbow.  She looked lost in thought; sadness and loneliness etched across her features. And even being completely honest with himself, Neal couldn’t remember ever seeing this look on her face. Not until the day he left.

He heard his teenage self before he saw him. The slam of the bedroom door and the thud as he ran down the hall. “Morning mom!” He slid to a stop in front of her and kissed her cheek.  The look of sadness was, momentarily, gone from her face. “I’m going to go out with Justin, ok? I’ll be back before dark!”

And suddenly Neal remembered this Christmas with incredible detail. He was 16 and Justin had been the first boy to steal (and break) his heart. He’d been just as broken as Danny, just as fatherless, just slightly more devious.  They’d spent the day betting pennies, playing cards, and playing ‘tricks’, as Justin called them, on unsuspecting people passing by. He’d had a blast. It had been the first Christmas in a long time that he’d felt happy. Justin had given him a keychain and a kiss before they parted and Danny had floated home on his own personal cloud.

But now, watching his mom alone in the kitchen as the door slammed behind him, guilt tainted any good memory of this day.  She dropped the cigarette into the coffee and her head into her hands.  She didn’t cry, but when she looked up again her eyes were red. She stood, slowly and made her way to the dark fake tree and plugged it in, the lights glittering in the tears in her eyes until she blinked them away.  She ran a hand over his name embroidered into the stocking on the wall, Danny. “Merry Christmas, Neal.” And then the tears came, streaming and unstoppable as her sobs shook her.

Neal reached out, his own tears burning like fire, but his hand passed over his mother like she wasn’t there. He turned to Ellen, angry. “Why did you bring me here? Why did you show me this?” He turned back to his mother. “I’m so sorry, mom. I’m so sorry.” But of course, it was he wasn’t really there.

“Do you remember what this place felt like when you were 16?” Ellen’s voice was just over a whisper.

“A cage.” Neal looked around again. “A prison.”

“Your mom drank. And you ran. And ran. You landed here, safely - somehow, every night. Even when you didn’t want to.” She moved until she was standing just beside his mother, crying silently now, her sobs muted. “But by your demons, you were loved. She might have failed you, Neal. But she will never stop loving you.”

“I’d like to go. I want to go home.” His fists were clenched by his side and his jaw hurt for the tension he was biting down on. “Please.”

Ellen nodded and swiped a thumb over his lashes, collecting tears. When he opened his eyes again he was in his bed, but his cheeks were still wet. Ellen was gone.

He took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes tight. They flew open again as the bed dipped slightly and a hand ghosted his forehead. The sight before him broke him and he scrambled into a seated position against the headboard.

“Hello, Neal.” Kate was smiling that impish grin she saved just for him.

“Kate?” He gagged on the word. Swallowed and tried again. “Kate.”

Her smile grew. “You didn’t forget me.”

“How could I?” He brought a hand up to touch her face, but thought better of and pulled his hand away.

Hurt flickered across her face for a moment before she found her smile again. “You look good.” She stood and held out her hand.

He took it and got up off the bed to stand beside her. “Christmas Present?”

“Yes.”

With a blink they were transported across the miles and he found himself standing in a dining room brimming with people. Kids playing in the room next door, a football game somewhere; volume turned up far too loud, and the smell of Dinner in the air.  He didn’t recognize the house, but there was something familiar about the people in it.  “Where are we?”

“These are the Mitchells. Meet Elizabeth’s family.” She waved a hand around the room. “These are the people whose tests you’ll have to pass someday. And you will, if you choose to, don’t worry.”

He looked at her skeptically. "Tests?"

Kate smiled. "How much do you think Elizabeth has to love you before she introduces you to her dad?"

Neal swallowed hard.

"Consider that knowledge my gift." Kate slid her hand down his arm and took his hand. "But your future undecided isn't what we're here to see."

She led, he followed. She pushed through a door and he found himself in a wide open kitchen. And smack in the middle of it Elizabeth sat on stool behind an island, leaning on Peter who was standing behind her. Neither were smiling. Neal approached, unable to stop himself.

"Maybe we should go." Elizabeth's voice was small in the echoey room. "I'm worried, Peter."

"I know." Peter held his phone to his ear for a minute before he spoke again. "Neal? It's Peter. Again. I know you're mad. And I know your sick. But you need to answer your phone. I need, we need to hear your voice, ok? We need to know you're ok."

"I wish he was here." Elizabeth's hands were white knuckling the countertop. "We shouldn't have left."

"I know." Peter dialed again. Listened, hung up. Swore.

“Even if he hadn’t been sick, Peter, we shouldn’t have left.” She sounded angry. “It’d be like, like, dammit Peter.  You wouldn’t have left me. And I wouldn’t have left you. What message are we sending him when we both just walk away?” She turned to face him. “That he’s not as important as us. That we love him less. That’s not fair because it’s not true.”

Peter nodded. “I know.” He put his phone in his pocket and pulled her up and into his arms. “I tried, El. I tried to ask him if-” Peter sighed. “I didn’t believe him. But I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“I wish he was here.” She looked around. “He’s family. He should be here.”

The scene muted and Neal turned to Kate. "I never asked to go."

"I know why. Do you?" She shook her head lightly.

"I'm a secret," Neal's face flushed.

"No." She poked him in the chest. "Try again."

Neal frowned. "But I..."

"When he asked you if you had plans, Neal, what did you say?"

"I told him I did."

"You lied." She emphasized the last word and he opened his mouth to defend himself but she covered it with her hand. "You didn't say 'I want to spend the day with you.' And anything else is a lie."

"But," he mumbled against her fingers and she took her hand away. "I didn't think I did. I didn't think it mattered."

"And there's most of the truth. This is getting too easy." Kate laughed. "The rest is simple. You're afraid."

"Of what?" He looked genuinely confused.

"That maybe they don't love you the same." There was sympathy in her tone.

Neal's eyes widened and he looked defensive. He looked down at the floor. "Maybe I need to be playing for keeps this time, and maybe I don't know how." He brought his eyes back to her face and was surprised by the smile he found there. "I don't know how to stop being the man I am to be be man I know they want me to be. I can't."

"What if the man they want is the man you are?" Kate put her hands on his cheeks. "Just keep your nose clean."

"Kate. You know me. What if I can't do that? What if-" He pulled away from her and took a step toward the scene still playing out, silently, beside them. "What if I screw this up?"

"Will you?" She put a hand between his shoulder blades.

“I don’t want to. But, Kate, I screw up everything.” He turned to face her, but she was gone.  A long tunnel was laid before him and he turned back to where Peter and Elizabeth had been. The tunnel extended that way too.  Darkness gave way to dim prickles of light as the lights were turned on with an echoing boom.  Neal started forward, he recognized the gloominess immediately and his heart sank.  This was his future?

Prisoners called out and the flushing of toilets was a dull roar in the background. “Is this where I belong?” He called out to nobody.

There wasn’t an answer but a hand fell heavy on his shoulder. Neal jumped and whirled around.  “You.”

The man behind him just grinned and lit the cigar dangling from his lips with a flick of a lighter.  He blew the smoke in Neal’s face and crooked his finger, beckoning Neal to follow.

“Adler.” Neal called after him. “This… this isn’t right. This isn’t where I’m supposed to be. This isn’t where I end up!” He was frantic. “This can’t be.”

Adler just walked away.  Neal followed behind, eyes on his shoes, anger and fear rolling in his belly. When the echoing footsteps in front of him stopped, Neal looked up.  Adler was watching him, that horrible little grin on his face.  He blew smoke rings toward the ceiling before turning glowing eyes on the cell before them.  When Neal refused to look, he pointed and his grin grew.

“No.” Neal squeezed his eyes shut. “You can’t make me look.”

But he could. And he did. He stepped close to Neal and wrapped cold fingers around his chin, turning his face and forcing him to take in the scene.  Neal choked on a sob as he recognized himself; wearing convict orange, huddled knees to chest on a bare mattress.  The walls were covered in tallys and sketches that were curled at the corners, faded and yellow  with age.  His hair was too short and sprinkled with grey, the lines around his eyes; deep.

There was a sketch pad and a box of colored pencils, down to their last nubs, on the bed with him and Neal knew exactly how much of his soul he had to sell to get those items from the prison commissary.  There was half a sketch on the first page; a Christmas scene. A tree lit up in a living room he recognized with an ache.

“Hey Caffrey!” He jumped and so did the Him in the cell. “Christmas dinner.” Two guards showed up from nowhere and slid a tray through the bars. The first guard laughed. “Merry Christmas!”

As the two walked away Neal caught the last of their conversation. The other spoke as they disappeared around the corner. “This is his 8th Christmas in here, Joe. It’s not funny anymore.  Poor guy hasn’t had so much as a visitor in years. You could cut him a break today of all days.”

There was rude laughter again and then they were gone and the hall darkened behind them.

“Eight years?” Neal turned to Adler with horror on his face. “Nobody has missed me for years? What did I do?”

But the spirit was busy, head tipped back and his soundless cackling filling the silence better than a trumpet. Neal dropped to his knees and watched as the him inside the cage picked at the food before curling back into himself, a cold kind of stoniness settling over his features.  His words were bitter when he spoke for the first time. “Merry Christmas.”

"I won't do this to you. I swear I won't." Neal gripped the cold bars. "Where did you go so wrong? Where did I go so wrong?" If this moment grew quiet, he couldn't tell. An oppressing feeling settled over him and he fell further, squeezing his eyes tight and curling up. "I want to stay. I'm happy, I'm loved and I love and that's what I want." He was choking on his cries. "I don't want to be alone."

"Neal?" There were cold hands prying at him. "Neal, c'mon buddy, wake up." The voice was urgent and familiar. "He's burning up, El."

He didn't hear an answer but stopped fighting the pull and landed on his back, one cool hand on his chest, the other pressed to his forehead. He cracked an eyelid. "Hi, Peter ghost." The scratch in his throat turned into a tickle and he coughed.

"Ghost?" Peter was manhandling him into an upright position, trying to help him breathe. "Not a ghost, sweetcheeks." He stood and maneuvered so Neal was against his shoulder, upright and wheezing.

Neal blinked so slow that Peter wasn't sure his eyes were going come open each time the slid closed. "Notta spirit?" He looked genuinely confused. Peter was frowning in a way that sent a pleased tickle through Neal and his face split into a grin. He dropped his head to Peter's shoulder.

Then Peter was tugging at him, pulling him to his feet and pushing his clothes off. "Cold, Peter ghost!" He fought back with what little strength he could find.

"Gotta get your fever down, Neal. Also, still not a ghost." Peter huffed a laugh because really what else could he do? He was dragging his belligerent partner towards the bathroom and a cool shower and the man was fighting him every step of the way. "C'mon Neal. Elizabeth's going to be mad if I let your brain boil."

That got Neal to stop trying to swat his hands away. "Liz'beths here?"

"She's parking the car." Peter finally got them into the bathroom and deposited Neal onto the toilet lid and finished undressing him before he stripped of his own clothes.

"Kinky, Peter ghost." Neal looked down at himself and shivered. "It's too cold to be naked though."

"That's the idea." He turned the shower on and hoisted Neal to his feet alarmed again at the heat radiating off of him.

Neal managed to help a little as Peter stepped into the spray and pulled him in behind him. He gave Neal a minute to adjust and then turned them so they were chest to chest with Neal's back under the cool water. "You're one too many." Neal was shivering already, fingers gripping Peter hard and his head heavy against his shoulder. "Only supposed to be three." He raised his head and his eyes were bright with fever under the cascading water. "What comes after the future?"

"Buddy, I don't know what your talking about." Peter tightened his hold.

"I know." He smiled and it looked a little sad to Peter. "Will you be my Ghost of Christmas Forever?"

Peter frowned a little. "Have you been dreaming in shades of Dickens?" He reached up and brushed water off Neal's face.

The smile fell and the sadness remained. "Peter? Will you be my forever ghost?" He dropped his head back to Peter's shoulder and murmured the last into his neck. "Will you stay?"

"Oh, Neal." Peter ran a hand down his back and pressed his lips to his temple, he was still warm but nowhere near the horrifyingly hot that he had been. "Always."

They stood there, Peter supporting Neal's shivering frame until Elizabeth's voice echoed through the space. "Peter?"

"In here!" Peter called back and Neal jumped against him. "It's El." Peter spoke low in his ear.

"Honey," El pushed the door open. "You guys doing ok?"

"I forgot to grab towels. Want to help me get him out and back in bed?" He was getting heavy.

El grabbed towels from the closet and entered the bathroom. She shut off the water and Peter shifted Neal's weight towards her. "Neal, sweetie? You need to help me out here." El laughed as he leaned toward her and stumbled over the edge of the tub.

Neal smiled at her. "Hi." Peter got out behind him and tied the first towel around his own waist before using the other to rub Neal down. "Your husband is a handsy ghost."

El smiled with confusion in her eyes and Peter chuckled. "I'll explain later. Let's get him-" Peter was doing most of the supporting again, Neal's arm was draped across his back. He nodded back toward the bedroom and El stepped under Neal's other arm. Together they made short work of getting him dressed, medicated, and back under the blankets.

"Maybe we should take him to the hospital." El was sitting beside Neal with a hand to his forehead. "He's so warm."

"Let's give the medication time to work. If it's still this high in a few hours, we'll go in." Peter dropped into a chair and closed his eyes. It had been the longest 24 hours in recent history. "I know he'd rather not spend Christmas in the ER."

They settled in, staying close, keeping watch. Neal woke periodically to drink and swallow the pills that the hands he reached for provided. His temperature fell steadily through the night.

\--

Neal woke quickly but didn't move, he blinked his eyes open, listening carefully to the sound of laughter floating from somewhere near. He struggled into a seated position and was relieved when his head followed and his stomach didn't rebel. He got slowly to his feet and shuffled his way toward the voices.

Peter and Elizabeth were sitting at the table in front of the terrace, a board game between them. Peter looked over and got to his feet as Neal approached. "Hey! You're up." Then he was there, guiding Neal to the couch. "How're you feeling?"

"You're here?" He frowned and tried to remember. There was some sort of haze over his memories. "You left."

"We came back." Elizabeth ran her hand over his hair as she came around to sit beside him. "We wanted to spend Christmas with you."

And that was all it took. Memories bobbed to the surface and Neal closed his eyes against the onslaught of images. "I had the most incredible dream."

"Was there, perchance, a lesson in this dream?" Peter's mouth was turned up in a smirk.

"How did you...?"

"I, sweetcheeks, am a handsy forever type of ghost. Apparently."

Neal smiled. He might not be up for dancing in the streets but he knew a gift when he was given one. "I love you. And I wanted to spend Christmas with you, I just didn't know how to ask. I’m sorry I let us miss that chance." He took a breath.

"Neal." Peter interrupted. "You haven't missed Christmas." He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and displayed the clock. It was just after 10am Christmas morning.

Joy bloomed from somewhere inside and suddenly dancing in the street didn’t seem wholly out of the question. Neal got to his feet and pulled both of them along with him. "And you're here. We're together. And you love me. Both of you." He pulled them into an awkward three way hug and laughed as their heads bonked together lightly. "We need to be celebrating."

He kissed them both and then pulled away. He disappeared into his closet and came back with gifts. He handed them over and they all sat, Neal leaning against Peter's shoulder. "Open them." He was picking nervously at his nails.

Elizabeth peeled back the first corner and Neal switched sides, letting his head rest against her shoulder as she pulled the paper free. He flushed when she gasped. "Oh, baby. It's gorgeous." The entire thing was a Caffrey original, from the handmade frame to the dozen or so tiny artworks that filled the space. She was quiet for a minute while her eyes skimmed the comic. "Oh, Neal." When she looked his way again there were tears bright in her eyes. "This is amazing."

He kissed her lips and turned back to Peter. "You were supposed to open them at the same time." Peter smiled and ripped at the paper. He ran a finger along the comic as he read. "It's a story." Neal explained. "There's a third part."

He got up and went back to the closet and Peter and El moved together on the couch, finding the place where their stories overlapped. But it wasn't until Neal returned with the third piece that they were truly awed. "It's..." Peter touched the vein of thoughts that ran through all three.

"Your story of us?" Elizabeth tore her eyes away. "Neal..."

"Each part stands alone just fine. It’s good on it's own." Neal touched each one. "A story of you. And you. And of me. But when they're put together, just two, it's a love story." He put one hand on each of their pieces. "But it’s not truly complete until-" He ran a hand across the top of all three. He shrugged a little. "I also bought tickets to the theater." He winked at Elizabeth. "And some sporting event." To Peter. "In case this tanks."

"This is perfect. Neal, I can't even find the right words." Elizabeth set everything aside and pulled Neal in. "You did good."

"You did wonderful." Peter's voice was a little thick and he cleared his throat. "I love it."

"Oh!" El pulled away from Neal. "The present!" She looked around and spotted the little box sitting on the table. "I'm glad you didn't open it without us."

Neal took it and gave it a little shake. He slid his finger under the tape.

"Wait. Neal, did you mean it?" Peter suddenly spoke up, looking uncharacteristically unsure. "When you asked if I'd stay. If I'd be your..."

"Forever Ghost." Neal smiled, blushing just a little. "I did."

"Ok." Peter leaned back again and took El's hand. "Then open it."

Neal undid the edges and tipped the paper, dumping a small wooden box into his hand. He looked up at the two of them, watching him carefully. His pulse doubled. "Guys..." He flipped the lid of the box and it took Peter's hand on his knee before he started breathing again.

"We can't make it officially official...." Peter's voice was apologetic. "But we need you to know it's not you and us. It's just... Us."

Neal pulled the ring from the box. "It's perfect."

"It's engraved." Elizabeth spoke up. "All of ours are."

Neal flipped it and brought it closer to his face. "Pari Passu."

"It's Latin-" Peter started.

"Equals Together." Neal finished. When he looked up again his eyes shone.

"Merry Christmas, Neal." The Burkes rang out in unison. And they laughed.

"Merry Christmas, Peter. Elizabeth." He slipped the ring onto his left hand and fitted himself between them more snuggly, kisses shared. "Merry Christmas."

 

\--

Peter found him later, standing still on the terrace, a cold wind biting and snowflakes landing in his hair. “Neal?” He came up beside him.

“Hm?” Neal jumped when Peter covered his hand. “Hey, Peter.” He leaned into him.

“Whatcha thinkin about?” Peter leaned back, nudging gently. “And why are you doing it in the bitter cold?”

Neal held up a piece of paper, just a scrap really. A corner torn off a larger piece.  It looked like it had been balled up once or twice and folded repeatedly. “She wasn’t that hard to find.” He handed the paper over. “They didn’t change her name.”

“Who?” Peter took the paper. It wasn’t a New York area code.

“My mom.” Neal took the paper back and balled it up in his fist. “When I got out of prison, I looked her up.” He laughed. “Do you know that when you’re son turns his back on you while you’re in witsec, your life gets turned upside down? She spent 6 months in a WitSec safe house while they tried to decide if I was a risk to her. She lost her home. Her job. The life she’d been building. They just took it away from her. Again. But at least they didn’t change her name.”

“Neal…” Peter was regretting this conversation. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I saw her, Peter. In my - dream or, or hallucination or vision quest, or whatever it was.” He took a long breath and blew it out in a cloud. “I need to know.”

“Ok.” Peter wrapped an arm around him. He produced a cell phone from his pocket and handed it over. “Let’s do it then.”

Neal looked at him with tears freezing in his eyes. He took the phone with a hand that shook and dialed the number without glancing at the paper. It rang three times and he almost hung up but a voice he almost remembered suddenly warmed the line. “Hello?”

“M-mom?” He cleared his throat. “It’s Neal.”

Peter didn’t hear the next words, but the smile that spread across Neal’s face was enough. He touched his elbow and turned them back into the apartment. He dropped Neal at the couch and went to fetch blankets and the hot coco El was busy making on the stove. He kissed her and mouthed ‘mom’ at her raised eyebrow. Her eyes widened just a little as she pressed mugs into Peter’s hands.

By the time he got back to the couch he was just catching the end of the conversation. “Merry Christmas, mom.” Neal wiped a tear off his cheek and the light caught the glint of his ring and he smiled. He hung up and handed the phone back to Peter. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve… this.” Peter dropped to one side, El came around and filled the empty space on the other. “But thank you.”

He looked over at Peter and shared a wink. “And God Bless us, everyone.” Peter smirked for a minute before he laughed, then Neal laughed. Elizabeth looked on like they’d lost it. “I am going to get the rest of the story, right? Someone’s going to fill me in?”

Her boys just laughed a little harder. It was a pretty Merry Christmas after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. I know it got a little long and lot schmoopy at the end but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. :) Happy Holidays!


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